


Emergency Godfather

by Rikkamaru



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crowley Raises Harry Potter, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Gen, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Kid Fic, Pre-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkamaru/pseuds/Rikkamaru
Summary: "If all Available and Requested Guardians for a Magickal Childe are Unfit or Unavailable, then care of the Magickal Childe shall go to the Giver of the Parents’ Magicke."This was astupidlaw and Crowley had regrets.





	1. Devil at your Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotNecessarilyinBetween](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotNecessarilyinBetween/gifts).



> I blame NotNecessarilyInBetween for this, because when I mentioned this idea and said I wouldn't write it, she said, "Oh my gosh but please".

Crowley had been relaxing at his flat, scaring some order into his plants, when he felt his core give a little tug. He held a hand up to the shivering plants, and looked down at his shirt. Nothing was there, and he frowned at it before feeling another tug. A summoning? He sighed and put the bottle where he was standing, straightening his clothes out to remove nonexistent wrinkles. “We’ll continue this later,” he told the trembling foliage, before turning and leaving for his Bentley.

He had to drive by following the incessant tugging in the middle of the night, and from there had to spend a bit of extra time getting away from the police out of sheer spite. It didn’t feel like whatever was pulling him was outside of England – and if it was, it could wait for him to park now couldn’t it?

After a little under an hour Crowley braked so hard his tires squealed in protest. He rolled down the window, not bothering to lower the volume of his _Best of Queen_ album, and narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the house the summoning was taking him to. He got out and stalked closer, turning off the car with an irritated snap when he saw some of the houses around him start to wake up.

The chill that came with the start of November made him wish a scarf up to wrap around his neck, his coat growing thicker with a passing thought. He loitered outside of the house and took a moment to compare it to its neighbors before sneering in disgust.

It was indistinguishable, just another cookie from the same cutter than made up the other houses. How utterly boring; were it not for the summoning he would have driven straight past it. He stepped up to the walkway only to pause again as something he hadn’t sought out in years passed over him in a wave.

Protective magics encircled the house, and for a moment they pushed, nervous and confused and wanting this bastion of evil out of their midst before they recognized Crowley and backed away, forming a little doorway that couldn’t be seen by the human eye for him to walk through. He did so, and turned to watch it reform before walking closer to the house. The summoning pulled, and pulled, and pulled – and then tugged downward while he was peering through the peephole to see if anything interesting was on the other side.

His head jerked down and he flinched away like a bucket of holy water was sitting there without his notice.

And not the tiny baby swaddled in a blanket that _was_ sitting there.

Crowley stared at it, uncomprehending, before it let out a tiny whimper and shivered in the thin blanket. “What the _fuck_ ,” he swore, dropping to his knees and scooping the baby into his arms. He hadn’t handled a child in – a while, but it was easy to wish the blanket warm and the baby clean, and the whimpers died down immediately. The baby tried to curl up closer, and Crowley made sure to blink – just in case his brain was conjuring all of this. It wasn’t often a human child found comfort in a demon’s arms.

 _Protect_ , the summoning whispered, and Crowley nearly threw the baby as everything clicked into place.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hissed, forgetting himself and not bothering to speak in a human tongue with no one around to care. “No one? You’ve got _no one_?”

The baby slept on, deaf to his panic.

Crowley groaned and leaned his head back to hit against the door, still hissing to himself. “That stupid law wasn’t supposed to be used after the Witch Trials had finished; all of the magical folk have a laundry list between me and their kids.” He glanced down again and brushed the baby’s hair out of its face. He stared at the scar there in morbid curiosity. “Sowilo? That’s not the most comforting rune to carve into a baby’s face.” He turned his gaze over to the letter on the baby’s chest that he’d been ignoring, and with a snap of his fingers it unfolded itself and floated helpfully in his line of sight.

He read the thing with a frown before his eyebrows went up. “Blood wards?” he asked the letter, which knew better than to respond. “Those won’t stick if he doesn’t want them to and there are other options,” Crowley mused to himself. He was, after all, another option for the child. The archaic Laws of Guardianship ensured that.

After another hour of letter-staring followed by star-staring Crowley came to a decision and put the child down, standing up and stretching out his arms. All of the joints there – including the extra ones – popped in enjoyment and he sighed. “Right. Best give this lot a trial run. If I don’t like how it’s going I’ll take you, make this easier on all of us.” He miracled the blanket to be soundproof so the baby wouldn’t wake from too much noise.

Before setting off the Dursley’s cars so that their alarms were blaring in the middle of the night and settling into his snake form nearby.

That ought to wake them up.

* * *

He’d only left the baby – Harry? The letter called him Harry at least – in this family’s care for a month and already Crowley could tell this wouldn’t be a good match.

For one they already had their own child, blond and unusually large. It – he?? The woman called it Dudley and ‘Diddums’ so Crowley was going to tentatively assume the other baby was a male – screamed constantly, and really Crowley didn’t think he’d need his hands for this but he was seeing the error of his thinking quite clearly at this point. It took up all of the woman’s attention, and the man’s when he got home from his job. And what little attention they spared for Harry…

…Didn’t seem very positive.

He’d heard both the man and the woman yell at Harry for making half the noise that Dudley did, and was coiled under their window one night and heard them talk about giving the baby less food! So they could give it to their already larger child!

No, no, this simply would not do. Crowley did the best he could to sigh as a snake, coiling up tighter beneath the rose bush. He hadn’t wanted this, truly. He’d just wanted to stir up trouble centuries ago, the same as he did in the Garden. Why shouldn’t humans ask for power? Why shouldn’t they get it? Angels and demons don’t have to hoard the power – that only made everything boring.

So when the first witches and wizards offered their souls for power, who was he to say no? Filled out his quota for the year, and it looked like he was recruiting for Hell and not that he was trying to even the playing field between the Humans and the Occult.

But he had to add in that stupid Law, or he’d be showing his hand a bit too much and Downstairs might have had more to say beyond their pithy commendation.

His tongue flicked out as he thought. He knew that Law like he’d written it yesterday. Were all of Harry’s listed Guardians truly Unavailable? How in hell did that happen? Or rather, how did that happen in this day and age? There weren’t any Witch Trials anymore, where all of your family and friends could very well die for being a bit too interesting. 

Maybe he should poke around, he thought, see what happened to them. Granted, the Law wouldn’t give care of Harry back to them if they were to become Available again, but he could just leave him in their care like he’d attempted with the Dursley family.

Mind made up, Crowley slithered away and turned back into his human form. He slipped his sunglasses back on and snapped his fingers, removing the magic that had been hiding his Bentley from view, and slid into the car. He thought he saw someone watching him through their window but, when he turned to look at the house in question, no one was there.

He drove back to London and thought briefly of calling Aziraphale before dismissing the thought. He didn’t even know if he would be keeping the child in his care; best not to get the angel’s expectations up for nothing.

He parked in a space near the rather rundown-looking Leaky Cauldron and swept forward, the door opening to let him in at his glare.

It was loud, laughter and cheers dominating the room, and Crowley looked around in puzzlement but didn’t do anything to quiet the room and draw attention to himself. From what he could overhear, it was revelers that were _still_ celebrating the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Whoever that was.

As he was entering the room that would usher him into Diagon Alley, he heard one of them shout, “Lucius Malfoy got out on an Imperius plea!” and the others begin booing before he closed the door.

With a snap of his fingers the bricks sprang apart and began reconstructing themselves into an archway, displaying Magical Britain in all of its crooked nonsense glory. Crowley felt amusement tug on his soul as he walked through the winding roads, past more revelers and protestors and simple pedestrians. He remembered offering his input on Diagon Alley, remembered many a magic user swearing at him as he showed off asymmetrical designs and escorted goblins in to also settle. He remembered the British Wizarding World with the fondness of a parent whose child had become an adult beside them.

He arrived at Gringott’s after a few minutes of occasional wandering and didn’t bother to look at the sign before he breezed past the guards. Demon he may be, he had no interest in material wealth beyond keeping up appearances, so his greed was not worth warning against. The guards looked at one another as he walked past, as if they sensed something on the wind but were uncertain of how agreeable they found it, but did nothing to stop him.

The bank was as busy as it ever was, the talking, the shouting, the _click-click-click_ of coins forever in motion all combining into a symphony of organized chaos. He went to stand in the queue after a moment of waiting around, but it looked like one of the guards outside had indeed reported him, because another came up to him, armed to the teeth and glaring at him a few rows more.

“Sir,” they said, the word more invective than greeting, “what is your business here? We will not offer asylum to Dark Wizards.” They purposely pitched their voice rather loud, and around them wizards quieted as their attention turned to their discussion.

Crowley felt spite burn pleasantly in his chest as he lifted his hand to brush back his hair, revealing his sigil. He saw the goblin still and grinned, lowering his sunglasses just enough that he could look over them at the guard and reveal his eyes. “Just looking to conduct some legal business. A child recently came into my care and I needed to follow up on that.”

The goblin did his best to look unaffected but Crowley saw the hand gripping the goblin’s spear tremble minutely before the being stood at attention, much more respectful now. “Apologies, sir, we did not recognize you. Please follow me, I can fetch you a goblin from Legal to assist you.” They beckoned him and went off to the side, and Crowley followed behind.

“No problem, no problem, I’ve changed my fashion sense quite a bit since your lot’ve seen me, it’s all quite reasonable. Let’s hope there’s no repeat performance though.” He let his eyes trail over the goblins counting coins nearby and didn’t bother to hide his smile as some of the towers of coins tumbled over, making the goblins swear violently in their native tongue.

“Let us hope,” the goblin echoed in agreement, being careful to not look at either the demon or the inconvenienced clerks.


	2. Goblin Catch-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes plans and the goblins give him the lay of the land currently.

Crowley was issued into a room with a goblin already working away at a stack of papers. They looked up at his and guard’s entrance, a harsh scowl on their face, but the guard spoke up before the lawyer could demand to know their purpose there. “Lord Crowley has had a child put into his care and wishes to make an inquiry.”

The lawyer froze at the name for a moment before nodding sharply. “I see. If you would sit, Lord Crowley, and I will see what I can do to assist you today.”

Crowley did as much and relaxed into the stiff wooden chair like it was a throne, the chair shifting beneath him at a wave of his hand until it was significantly more comfortable. The goblins watched but did nothing and Crowley smiled thinly at them as he sprawled out, boneless. “Glad for the quick service. I’ll have to head to the mundane world after this and make a fake identity to officially take in the child.”

“Of course sir, rest assured that someone of your…standing…will always be seen to quickly and efficiently.” The goblin snapped their fingers and the filing cabinet beside them opened and files began to float out of it. The guard nodded a tad deeply and saw themselves out, to Crowley’s relief. He didn’t want to make _too much_ of a production out of this. “What is the child’s name?”

“Harry something. Some Dumbledore fellow had left him with his mundane aunt and uncle on November 1st, but all of his other Requested Guardians are Unavailable, so here I am.” Crowley swung his legs over so that they hung over the chair’s arm but the goblin wasn’t paying him any more attention, instead waving one of the files over to rest on their desk. He glanced at the file in interest and the goblin didn’t wave him away, smart enough to see the error in that logic.

The goblin hummed, and Crowley looked away from the file long enough to look for some kind of identification. There was a name plate, begrudgingly placed in the corner of the table, which said Karok. “The only Dumbledore of note in England is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who acted as the late Potters’ executor of their will. He claimed himself to be Harry Potter’s magical guardian and placed him in the care of his muggle relatives.”

Crowley frowned and looked back over, to see that Karok had turned the file towards him. He hummed in gratitude and read through it. “Sounds about right, but was this Albus in their will as a Guardian? If he was he was deemed Unfit,” he pointed out, and Karok turned away and pointed at a different filing cabinet, which opened obediently and released a thicker folder.

They flipped through the folder and frowned a little. “No,” they determined. “Dumbledore was not placed in the will as a Guardian for Harry Potter, only as an executor. The only people in the will that were labelled as Godparents and Guardians for Harry Potter were Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom.”

“ _What_?” Crowley grabbed the folder and tugged it closer, Karok doing nothing but shooting him an irritated look. He read through the will quickly and there it was, everything Karok had just said laid out for all the world to see. He let the folder fall from his numb fingers and hit the desk with nary a rustle, staring at the wall opposite him without seeing it. “Every magical family knows better than to limit the Guardians to their kids. I’ve seen them put _orphanages_ in there to ensure their kids don’t go to me. What were they thinking?”

Karok grunted and pulled the folder over again. “It says that Lily Potter nee Evans was the one to file the will. She was a muggleborn, so it would appear that she was not informed of the Laws of Guardianship beyond what muggles already have.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair and shifted his head to the side. “Muggleborn? So children of mundane humans with occult powers? How in Go- Sa- _Someone’s_ name are they around?”

“They’ve been around for thousands of years, sir,” Karok said, voice flat and unimpressed.

Crowley waved his hand in a vague warding gesture. “I’m sure they have, but I don’t go around asking people about their pedigree, or whatever these magical folks are calling it.” He hummed a little as he thought, before an idea came to him and he felt his face shutter closed. “Oh. I remember them now.”

He cleared his throat, trying to turn his brain away from the memories that had assailed him. “Right, so what happened to Black and Longbottom?”

Karok didn’t question the shift in subject and looked through the folder. “Alice Longbottom and her husband were tortured to insanity and are now located at St. Mungo’s – the nearby hospital.”

“Err, rough time, that,” Crowley said, folding his arms over his chest to hold himself a bit more closely. That sounded like something that happened rather often down in Hell, and he didn’t want to think on it much beyond that. “And Black?”

“Sirius Black was the one to betray the Potters to their death.”

Crowley’s head snapped back to the goblin from where he had been reviewing the ceiling. “What do you mean by that?” He asked, and Karok hesitated for a moment at his tone of voice.

“Their location had been hidden by use of a powerful charm, which required a designated keeper of their hidden location. No one else would be able to find them without being told by the Secret Keeper. Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper of where the Potter family had hidden, and so their discovery and death had to have been facilitated by Black himself.”

The goblin abruptly stopped talking and Crowley wondered vaguely if he should check on that, but he could barely hear anything over the sudden rushing in his ears, the film of red that was over his vision. He tried to clear out the color from his ocular scale but nothing happened and he remembered he was still human-shaped, not snake-shaped.

Crowley had tried to imagine how such a thing would transpire, what it would be like, but all he could imagine was Aziraphale befriending him, trusting him, being someone he cared for so much that Crowley would walk on consecrated ground to save him from Nazis and his own silly plans. Aziraphale giving him holy water, trusting him, being the greatest companion he’d ever have. 

And then he imagined Aziraphale turning around and handing him over, bound and chained, to Heaven because none of it had ever mattered, none of it was real enough. And the anger that first hit him would rush back, overriding the hurt he knew went bone deep at the thought.

He forced his lungs to move, to cycle the air that sat in his lungs stale and tasting of ash out for the stone and paper scent of the air around him, and did it again, and again, until the red bled out of his vision and his fangs receded back into normal teeth. When he looked at Karok he realized the goblin had stopped speaking because their desk had morphed in Crowley’s anger, forming spikes that pressed threateningly into the goblin’s unprotected stomach. 

He swallowed and breathed again, anchoring himself to these human motions, and waved his hand. The desk spikes smoothed out and disappeared. “Sorry about that. Today’s been a rather…emotional day.” He hadn’t thought he would be seeing anything like this since the Witch Hunts, and he had already been off-kilter from figuring out how these so-called “muggleborns” existed. He was also projecting far too much, he realized with a curl of disgust.

“So it would appear,” Karok said, aiming for dry and missing by a ring or two, their body language now much more hesitant as they reached for the folder again.

Crowley let the goblin settle back into their role as he stared at the ceiling and forced himself to breathe, over and over, until the fear in the room reached a much more manageable level. It was nothing to use a minor miracle to create several platinum coins that he dropped onto the table, Karok startling briefly before looking at the currency with surprise and then pleasure. “So Black isss dead and Unavailable?” Crowley asked, and Karok grabbed the coins.

“He is quite alive, actually. After being detained after killing another companion and twelve Muggles, he was sent to Azkaban.” Karok frowned at the file, flipping one of the platinum coins between his fingers. “There is no trial on record.”

Crowley continued breathing and waved a vague gesture. “Ssoundss about right for the Heaven-adjacent. They tend to trusst their moralss over everything elssse.” Fuck, now he’s slipped so far he was _hissing_. What a great day this was. “I’ll look into it myself then.” And, once he got a proper confession out of the man, who was going to stop him from making the man’s remaining time in this realm as miserable as possible? Hell might even like him a bit more after this.

He stood up and Karok watched him warily but the demon merely offered them a card with his address and phone numbers on it. “Harry will be moving here. All documents regarding him are to be sent to this address.”

Karok nodded and took the paper. “Understood sir.” When they moved their hand to put the paper aside another platinum coin sat on the desk and they brightened subtly. “Is there anything else you will need today?”

“Nothing you can help me with I think.” He adjusted his sunglasses to make sure they sat properly on his nose and turned away. “Thank you for your time.”

“Grace and good fortune, Lord Crowley,” Karok said as they bid him goodbye.

“Don’t think that’ll help me,” Crowley said back before sweeping out of the room. “Ciao.”

He left the bank and basked in the sunlight for a moment, his eyes sweeping the streets, watching the foot traffic as he thought through what else needed to be done. Look into the tortured once-godmother perhaps? Or see to the treasonous godfather?

No. Those would be things to look into in the future, but they were not his priority. Harry, as his new charge, was.

He cocked his head for a moment, looking at where the Ministry building resided, before shaking his head and moving back to where the Leaky Cauldron was located. He paused only long enough to snag a cauldron cake and pumpkin pasty for Aziraphale and a bottle of firewhiskey for himself before going back to the mundane world once more. Whenever he gets around to explaining to whole Wizarding World thing, he wanted to have a bit of favor built up ahead of time.

He walked through the Leaky Cauldron and felt eyes follow him out, and when he touched the Bentley’s door he scowled fiercely as he felt magic that wasn’t his own covering his car like an oily film. The door unlocked as he opened it and he got in, driving back out near Surrey to a solicitors office. Once he got there he sat in his car for a moment, then sighed and got out to lean next to it. He stewed in irritation before clenching one hand and snapping the fingers of the other.

A car driving by jerked, one of its tires bursting and making it swerve, and Crowley hissed to himself as it bumped into his Bentley and he took the opportunity to transfer the tracking spell he’d felt on his car onto the other vehicle.

The other driver immediately parked and got out, spewing frantic apologies, but Crowley gritted his teeth into an understanding smile and began to calm them down. Once they were gone he whispered comforting nonsense to the Bentley and wiped away the dent like it was never there.

The day was already drawing to a close, so he spent some time sipping the firewhiskey, his and his car’s presence hidden from view with the wave of his hand, until he was reasonably certain everyone had left the office for the day. As he waited he reviewed what little he remembered of computers. He hadn’t done anything with them since he’d hacked a few to design the M25 after all.

Then he sobered up and entered the building.


	3. Enter Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale joins the show, and Crowley has to catch _him_ up, but not entirely.

Crowley walked out of the building, pleased with himself. It had taken a few miracles, a lot of swearing, and a pretty emphatic kick, but he managed to add himself into their database as a sibling to one Petunia Dursley and Lily Potter – he wondered if Flower Names were a part of some family tradition and, with great distaste, added a deed poll to his records – with an interest in filing an appeal for Harry Potter’s guardianship to be transferred to him. He took a moment once he was back in his car to bask in his victory before preparing himself to drive back to Privet Drive for more thankless shifts as a guard snake.

Before he could do more than get on the road the car phone started to ring, and Crowley stared at it with apprehension tightening in his stomach. He didn’t have to answer to know who it was.

Regardless he grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. “Blind Man’s Taxi Service,” he greeted. “Where your screams steer the way. How may I help you?”

“Crowley? My dear, where have you been? And what was that about a taxi service?” Aziraphale sounded confused but didn’t seem to be in any dire straits, so Crowley relaxed into the driver’s seat and looked up to stare at the car roof.

“Oh hey Aziraphale!” he did his best to inject surprised delight into his voice. “Oh don’t mind that, it’s something I’ve heard humans talking about doing when they answer phones and wanted to try for myself. And I’ve been…busy. Something came up that’s been keeping my attention for the past month.”

There was a pause before Aziraphale spoke again, quieter and more intent. “Has your side been asking after you that much?”

“What? Nah, nah, nothing like that.” Crowley scrubbed a hand through his hair, thinking about what to say. He wouldn’t lie to his angel, but he didn’t want to explain that a demonic contract he’d made over a millennia ago had just put an infant in his care and he had to make sure it all went off without a hitch. Not yet, at least. “Someone left me…something in their will, and I have to follow up on all of that,” he finally settled.

“Oh!” Aziraphale sounded startled by the mere thought, and Crowley understood completely. He recovered with good grace, though, and said, “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, my dear. If you need anything, let me know.”

Crowley hummed to himself, and heard his friend echo him on the other side. “I might need proof of occupation, if they don’t think a rich widower is a good enough source of financial stability. I’ll keep you in the loop on that.” Because, once Harry was officially in his care, it would only be a matter of time before his angel found out.

“Please do,” Aziraphale said, sounding pleased, before what Crowley said caught up with him in its entirety. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘rich widower’? Who were you married to?” He sounded much less pleased now, probably at being left out of the loop on such an important part – as he saw it – of Crowley’s life.

The demon sputtered for a solid minute. “I-it’s not – I wasn’t – I haven’t _actually_ been married, angel! But I needed a few things for this all to work, and being a widower was the best way to go about it.” It wasn’t even like it officially _said_ that he’d been married. More like they were bachelors living together and, upon death, Crowley was left all of his good friend’s worldly possessions and changed his last name to his friend’s in remembrance.

Doubtful humming. “If you say so, my dear. Now, I have to go, someone just walked in and has _far_ too much interest in my collection of Wadsworth Longfellow poems.” There was a pause as Aziraphale contemplated hanging up before an idea came to him. “Actually, will you be able to come over tonight? I have acquired a new plum wine that I think would pique your interest.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose as he tried to conjure a face for the name Aziraphale had said, only to come up with nothing. Must be a chap from the Nineteenth Century then. He moved past that to stare in thought at the light he’d been keeping red for the past minute, much to the irate honking of his fellow drivers. It was already evening, and he could spend the night checking in on Aziraphale and his plants, and return to his sentry duties in the morning. “Who am I to say no to a good wine? I’ll be over soon. Have fun, angel.”

“I look forward to seeing you, then.” The line disconnected after that and Crowley gave a fond sigh at his friend’s antics before putting his own phone away. It was easy to turn around and find his way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, its location as firmly lodged into his mind as his own apartment, if not more so.

He arrived in good time and miracled a parking spot available for himself. He grabbed the two sweets he’d picked up that day and swept into the building, the little bell cheerfully ringing in stark contrast to the irritation he could hear in his friend as he called out, “Excuse me, but the shop is clos– Crowley! I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.”

The demon shrugged and followed Aziraphale into the back room, turning the lock on the front door with a wave of his hand. “The solicitor’s office wasn’t too far away,” he explained, and the angel hummed in interest.

“You had to see them today? What did you talk about?” He fetched the plum wine he’d tempted Crowley with earlier and Crowley blinked two crystal glasses into existence.

“No talking today, decided to add myself to their database and fix it up a bit to match with the story I’ll be telling them whenever they get around to calling.” He took the filled glass and curled up in a hideous armchair, taking a sip before releasing a happy noise. This really _was_ quite a good wine. “Choya?” he asked, and Aziraphale shot him a fond look.

“Indeed. I’ve been craving something tarter before we go fully into the holiday season.” He took a sip himself before fixing his eyes more firmly on his companion and Crowley prepared himself for the interrogation. By drinking the entirety of his glass and refilling it. “So what were you left that required you change your information in the database? They already don’t look too closely at us,” his friend reminded him, like Crowley wouldn’t notice how taxes and his bank accounts weren’t half the headache they were meant to be.

He coughed a little, and took a sip of his wine to give himself more time. Aziraphale looked at him like he knew exactly what Crowley was doing but was willing to humor him. For now. “Right, er. It’s a bit complicated actually. And goes back a bit farther than just…” he gestured vaguely, “this one will.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up,” Aziraphale assured him, and Crowley felt his grave growing deeper beneath him. Metaphorically.

“‘Course, ‘course. You’re clever, you’re bound to keep up,” he coughed again while Aziraphale fought with himself to not look pleased. “So, I was left some things in this family’s will, but it won’t make any sense to the mundane legal system as it stands currently, so I had to change myself in the database to be related to the leaver of the will.” He took another sip of his wine and hoped that he’d left enough hooks out that the angel would let go of the whole “but what did they leave you” thing.

Azirphale took one of the hooks. “Hmm, I suppose that makes sense,” he mused. “Being a close relation to the leaver would give them more reason to leave something behind for you.” He mulled over this as he sipped the wine and Crowley used the pause to subtly nudge the magical sweets he’d acquired more into view. The angel naturally followed his movement and all-but glowed with joy at the sight of the pastries. “Oh! What are these?”

“Pastries I found while out on business today,” Crowley explained, leaning forward to point between the two items. “This one with the bubbling center is a cauldron cake, the other one is a pumpkin pasty.”

Aziraphale abandoned the wine to go collect a fork and Crowley was quick to snatch up the bottle and pour himself more. When he came back he didn’t hesitate to dive into the food and make a litany of happy noises as he ate. Crowley drank his wine and fought back a smile against the rim of his glass, pleased to see his friend enjoying the food so much. The alcohol was finally beginning to fog his brain and some of his reservations were beginning to give way. “My dear, where did you manage to find a magical patisserie?” Aziraphale asked, breaking Crowley out of his muddled thoughts.

“A what-what?” he asked back, the words barely making their way to his brain.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a little, taking another dainty bite. “Don’t be silly now. Only magic could make the filling bubble like so, but I don’t believe my side has had anyone sent down to make a new saint.”

“Well that answers that question then,” Crowley said to the ceiling. What question had that been, he asked himself a moment later. Part of him suggested the wine would help him remember, and he drank some more. Right! “So your side knows about magic.”

Aziraphale sounded so patient it bordered on condescending. “Of course we do, Crowley. When someone performs great acts and deserves a Sainthood, my side comes down and flips the switch for them.”

“Right, right. Magic switch,” Crowley agreed, following along by the skin of his teeth. Why was it so dark in the room? He pawed at his face and took off his sunglasses, placing them at the table beside him. “S’genetic switch, lets magic pass on like a…a…board-thing.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked in interest. He hummed contentedly again so Crowley assumed he was eating more of the sweets. “That certainly explains why I still sense magic users. Though there shouldn’t be _quite_ this many. Most of the Saints were celibate.”

Crowley snorted. Or tried to, anyway. It came out more like a violent inhale. “Nah, s’not your side that’s made all these magic users. S’me. Or my side; whichever. Mos’me.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley wondered if he’d been muttering this entire time. He tried repeating himself, this time a bit louder, but the angel was quick to shush him. “I heard you the first time, my dear. What do you mean by that?” He didn’t sound angry, which was good, but he didn’t sound happy either, which was…less good, Crowley’s brain decided.

“Mean by what?” He decided to ask, trying to figure out what had upset his friend so much, and Aziraphale sighed.

“Crowley, please sober up. I think I need you fully functioning for this conversation.”

Oh. That sounded very not good. “Sure,” Crowley agreed, a touch wary, before wincing and returning the alcohol in his body to the bottle he was still cradling. He grimaced at the taste in his mouth but put the bottle down and turned back to the angel that was now watching him far too keenly. “Um,” he said, by way of greeting.

“What did you mean when you said _you_ made all of these magic users?” Aziraphale asked, and the wince Crowley gave at that had nothing to do with the alcohol he desperately wanted again.

He drank what remained in his glass as a fortifying sip and ignored his friend’s disapproving look. “Ah – er – right, that. Was going to tell you, of course. Whenever it came up. Which I guess it has, right. So. Don’t know when it all started, mind, but at some point loads of people decided, “Hey, maybe this whole immortal soul thing actually has value.” But they were thinking value like in the market, not spiritually, so they would draw up these contracts and summon a demon. And since I’m the Earth-bound agent for Hell, I was typically who they’d summon. And they were all, “Can I give you my soul for power beyond my understanding?” And I went, “Sure why not,” and I’d sign their dotted line and boom! I flipped the switch and they had magic now. _And_ , since it’s genetic, that means their kids might be born with that flipped switch.”

He thought that all seemed pretty straightforward but Aziraphale looked dismayed. “Crowley, you did this for everyone? _Everywhere_?”

“No! No, nonono – how was I ever going to convince people to sell me their souls for powers beyond their understanding when they don’t even believe in me? No, they all figured out how to flip their magic switches on their own, I reckon. Definitely wasn’t me.” He couldn’t even _imagine_ the amount of work he’d have had to put in to have been responsible for _every single_ magic user.

No, he was only really responsible for most of Europe’s magic population.

Aziraphale was silent as he finished the last of his sweets, and held out an expectant hand. Crowley poured himself a new glass to the brim now that all of _that_ had been cleared up before passing over the bottle. “Does this mean your magic users created these dishes?” He asked, and Crowley shrugged.

“No idea. But I did buy them in a magical shopping center. You’d probably like it there. Entire bookstores filled with books you’ve never even _seen_.” There was a silence that filled the room after that; a silence that made Crowley wonder if he’d just made a horrible mistake.

The wine in his hand told him the mistake had been coming in in the first place.

“My dear,” Aziraphale started, and Crowley glanced at him before slamming his eyelids shut at the force of his Heavenly glow. “You’re taking me there. _Today_.”

He groaned and rolled his head along the back of his chair. “All the shops are closed by now, angel. It’s…” he looked around for a clock before giving up. “Late.”

“Tomorrow, then.” The angel declared, giving him no room for argument.

The wine was laughing at him. Crowley drank the rest of it to shut it up and agreed.


	4. Two's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley go to Flourish and Blott's.

Crowley woke up the next day with a groan that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d removed from his body the night before and everything to do with the sunlight aimed directly at his eyes. He rolled over in an attempt to escape from the irritant and realized too late that he’d fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s couch as he hit the floor with grunt. He curled up out of spite and tried to doze off again, but the echo of approaching footsteps told him he was out of time.

“Crowley? Ah, you’re awake! Lovely, now you can take me to that magical marketplace you were telling me about.” Aziraphale sounded like he’d been waiting for the sun to rise enough to be considered morning for a few hours and Crowley wondered, feeling rather uncharitable, if that was why he had been angled for the sun to hit him right in the eyes.

“Sure, sure. Just let me…” he gave up with words and waved his arms to encompass his entire situation.

“Of course, dear boy. I’ll give you half an hour.”

“How kind,” Crowley said, not meaning it at all.

“Well I do try to be,” Aziraphale said primly, ignoring the demon’s sarcasm, before settling into a chair to read as Crowley got up and stretched himself out. Crowley did his best to ignore him in return as he rolled his neck until it released pressure with an audible _click_. He ran a hand over his clothes, the dust it built up from a day of use vanishing and the wrinkles smoothing out like they were never there. He hummed a little before glancing at the mirror that just appeared, and snapping his fingers.

His coat lengthened and turned to wool, the collar flaring out to help keep his neck warm while his undershirt changed color but nothing else. He adjusted his sunglasses and nodded to his reflection, pleased. That ought to look different enough from yesterday. “How’s that?” he asked, arms out as he showed the change to his friend.

Aziraphale looked up and hummed before lifting one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Good enough I suppose,” he decided, and Crowley puffed up a bit in offense.

“Just because we all don’t like _tartan_ ,” he grumbled, walking past the angel to make his way over to his car. “Just for that you can find your own way to the magical bookstores.”

Aziraphale was a step behind him, knowing his moods like the ocean knows the tide. “Now, now, my dear, don’t be too hasty,” he attempted to soothe. “You look as well-dressed as you always do.”

Crowley gave him a beady stare, its effect lost behind his sunglasses, and slipped into his car. He started it with a roar before Aziraphale was fully in, and smirked a bit as the angel hurried the rest of the way in and gave him a patronizing look. Not very effective, Crowley thought, but that was probably due to overexposure.

He drove them both to the Leaky Cauldron before remembering the tracking spell someone had tagged it with the day before and scowling at the thought. Aziraphale, who’d been looking at the bar with the disquiet of someone who knew they were about to enter a building they wouldn’t like in the slightest, seemed to feel his sudden tension and turned to him. “Is everything alright, Crowley?” he asked, and Crowley released a breath through his teeth and made a point of parking farther away.

“Yup, everything’s fine, angel. Just had to deal with some nose poking last time, don’t want that again.” He got out and ran a hand along the front, pushing a bit more magic into the car to make it slip through the notice of even the wizards. “That should do it,” he said to himself, satisfied, and Aziraphale got out and put his hand on the car as well out of curiosity.

“Ah, I hadn’t realized they’d done something previously. Would you like me to add my own wards?” he offered, but Crowley waved him away.

“Let’s see if they keep this up first. I want them to not notice the car, not think they should leave immediately and that touching it will cause their graves to be walked on. Seems a bit…much. But very fun,” he tacked on, voice thoughtful as he stared at the Bentley and imagined it. “Actually, scratch what I just said; put it on.”

Aziraphale did a slow blink that Crowley _knew_ was to hide him rolling his eyes but did as asked, skimming his hand along the hood of the car and adding some of the wards he had set up in his bookshop. For a moment the magic flickered, making contact with Crowley’s, before seamlessly melding with it. They’d lived in each other’s orbit long enough that mixing their magic together was effortless.

He nodded his thanks before leading the way to the Leaky Cauldron, opening the door for his friend with a bit of fanfare. The place was about as clean as it had been when Crowley had walked through yesterday and he had the perfect angle to see his angel’s face twist into one of distaste before he hid it behind a pleasant façade. 

His expression completely changed after Crowley opened Diagon Alley up to him, and the demon felt his heart flutter a little at the wonder he saw on Aziraphale’s face – such a rare thing to see in this day and age. “Bookshop first then?” He asked, once he thought Aziraphale was done ogling their surroundings, and the angel turned to him with excitement sparking in his eyes.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, and Crowley scoffed at him before taking point.

“You’ll find I rarely offer things if I _minded_ them,” Crowley sniffed, and refused to look as his friend chuckled fondly.

They made it to the bookshop in good time and Crowley opened the door for his friend to usher him in. “Did you know they tried expanding into America but their partner bought them out over there? Biggest chain ever I hear – caters to magical and mundane both,” he said, and Aziraphale looked at him in interest.

“Really?” He asked, and Crowley considered going on but gave up with an amused grin.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confessed. “But it sounds like something they’d do, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale sighed and ignored him, Crowley’s grin never wavering as he too slipped inside. He lost the angel to the books immediately after that, and Crowley considered following him before rolling his eyes when he spotted Aziraphale in the history section and wandering off on his own. He meandered through the books, switching the books locations – half on a whim and half so that the authors’ initials formed rude words – until he found a book in his hand that had him hesitating.

_Raising your Magical Child,_ it said. _The Things to Look Out For._

Crowley hemmed and hawed and, after another minute where he put the book back and circled the shelf like a distrustful cat, he finally picked it back up, switched its front text to be one on magical plants, and tucked it under his arm.

It was just in case, he told himself, but Crowley was already resigned to the idea that Harry would end up in his care.

He exhaled and distracted himself with more random browsing until he found a book on some language – Mermish? Sounded familiar – and cracked it open. He was still there when Aziraphale walked up to him with a concerning glint in his eye. “There are too many books here to simply purchase and carry home so I was considering – Crowley? What are you doing?”

“Mmm?” Crowley asked back, not taking his eyes off the text as his brain itched something fierce.

A pair of hands appeared in his line of vision, not to pry the book away but rather move it so that Aziraphale could more comfortably read it at his side. Nonetheless Crowley blinked and refocused on his friend, who was looking at the text with his own curiosity. “What is it?” He asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Book on a language,” he said, and Aziraphale cast him a withering look.

“I gathered that much on my own, thank you,” he said coolly. “What about it has caught your eye so?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said. He reached a hand out and touched some of the script with his finger, moving it along a word before Aziraphale slapped his hand away. “It sounds…familiar? Maybe?”

The words weren’t, certainly, but the _pronunciation_ brought this fuzzy feeling to his mind, like he’d heard this language before but hadn’t in years. Maybe longer.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, and this time Crowley could rip his eyes away and look to the angel, who was frowning rather intently at that same word Crowley had hovered over a moment ago. He closed the book and returned it to the shelf. “When we have time we can figure out what it is that’s so familiar about the language, but for now I want you to hear this wonderful idea I have.”

“Oh?” Crowley asked, leaning against the shelf he was next to and biting back a yelp as the books shifted and sent his body sliding half a foot to the right. He peered at Aziraphale and blinked in puzzlement. “You don’t have any books!” He accused his friend and Aziraphale colored in affronted embarrassment.

“There are too many! I simply can’t carry them all home!” He whispered, leaning forward as if sharing some grand secret.

Crowley, who’d leaned forward as well, was unimpressed. “There are _too many_?” He asked, incredulous. “What kind of issue is that? Miracle them home! Or ask them for something to carry them in. They have _magic_ ; they’re bound to have some way let you carry as many books as you want.”

Aziraphale paused at that suggestion but waved him away. “That’s irrelevant now,” he insisted. “For you see, I’ve come up with a brilliant plan to have as many books as they’ll send me for a fraction of the cost.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow to show his skepticism. “Really?” He asked.

Aziraphale beamed back. “ _Really_. I think it’ll give even your plans a run for their money.”

“Because _that’s_ a high bar to clear,” Crowley pointed out, shifting the book under his arm after a corner jabbed into his armpit.

“You’re sell yourself too short, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, his eyes drifting to the book in Crowley’s possession with curiosity until he saw it was about plants and nothing of particular interest to him. “You come up with very clever plans.”

The demon cleared his throat and fought back the embarrassment he felt rise up. “Never mind my clever plans and tell me about yours,” he demanded, and Aziraphale looked ready to argue the point before giving up in favor of regaling his friend with his idea.

“So what I was thinking was, rather than simply buy the books for myself, I offer to be a partner with them. They can supply me with secondhand books people attempt to return, and I can sell them and split the profit with them. Quite a clever ruse, if I do say so myself.”

Aziraphale looked ridiculous with how pleased he was with himself as Crowley hummed a bit. “I don’t see what’s so clever about it,” he admitted. “Yeah you’ll be receiving the books for free, but you won’t be able to keep it up if you don’t sell any of them. They’re bound to want to get out of contract with you if you don’t make them any profit.”

“I can assure you they’ll receive the money they expect to,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley squinted at him to try and figure out why that was the case.

The angel’s confident expression gave nothing away and Crowley finally went “Right then. Ready to head to the register then?”

Aziraphale smiled like a man prepared to make a sales pitch. “Quite ready.”

The next half hour was spent with Aziraphale talking to the cashier who then had to get one of the managers who _then_ had to get one of the actual partners as Aziraphale talked his way into their good graces and, more importantly, book catalog. Crowley spent that time flipping through the child rearing book and trying to ignore the feeling that he was forgetting something with regards to Harry.

He hadn’t raised a child in a rather long time, he was bound to have forgotten things so it wasn’t much good to fret over it.

It was actually as he was reading that he managed to put together what exactly about Azirphale’s plan was so devious and he said, “Oh!” so loudly that the now-spectating cashier jumped and looked at him with all of the injured pride of a startled teenager. Which Crowley didn’t bother to acknowledge as he stared at the two chatting men with wide eyes.

Once Aziraphale succeeded in getting one of the owners to see things his way and work with him, the pair made their way out. “Is there anywhere else we should go?” He wondered. Crowley shrugged, the book still in his arms as no one tried to stop them from leaving.

“I don’t know, I was in a bit of a hurry the last time I was here. But, angel, I have to say.” Crowley shook his head in both amusement and wonder. “What you’re planning _is_ quite clever.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “I’m glad you think so! I was quite proud of the idea.”

“But where are you going to get all of the money to pay them like you sold the books?”

Azirphale batted at the air like the question were an annoying fly. “I’m sure Upstairs won’t mind a miracle or two being used for the furthering of knowledge.”


	5. Window Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale continue to shop in Diagon Alley.

Aziraphale hummed curiously as he examined the bejeweled dagger resting on a cushion they’d come across. “The proprietor said that this artifact was made with dark magic,” he noted, tipping his head to the side as he stared at it. Crowley mimicked him and watched the light play off the blade. “What do you think?” He finally asked Crowley and the demon thought about it before shrugging.

“Dunno.” He went quiet after that then looked up when he heard Aziraphale sigh next to him. The angel was staring at him, and Crowley shrugged again, much more visibly. “What? I don’t! I don’t even know what that means! Does that mean they’ve invoked Hell and its magics to make it? Does that mean it’s taken the blood of the innocent? Does that mean they’ve covered it in black paint? Made it at night? I haven’t the foggiest! I didn’t watch their society come to a consensus on what words mean!”

Aziraphale gave him an almost-petulant look. “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” he said, tellingly, and Crowley waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, the puzzle pieces snapped into place and he made a face at the angel.

“ _No_ , I am not just going to pick up some maybe-cursed artifact to see if it _only_ discorporates me,” he told his friend, and Aziraphale looked both understanding and disappointed. “Just ask the man what it does,” he said, and finally Aziraphale sighed in surrender.

“Yes, yes, alright,” he grumbled a little before lightening his expression and waving over to the watching proprietor for him to come closer while Crowley wandered off to look at the ominously glittering jewelry nearby.

After they’d left the book store, he and Aziraphale had wandered for a while before they’d taken a path down some shady-looking alleyway and started browsing through the shops they found there. These, from what Crowley had gathered, were filled with much more questionable items then the shops they’d seen earlier, and Aziraphale got that glint in his eyes that Crowley saw whenever he was on a mission to hunt down possible banned books. Oddly specific, but Aziraphale had done it enough that Crowley just kind of…knew that look now.

And so here they were, in a not-bookshop looking at “enchanted” objects. Crowley poked the earrings on display and tasted the magic in them on the back of his tongue. Hmm, they let the wearer hear anyone whispering in their vicinity. Seemed useful. He contemplated stealing them before dismissing the thought; the only people that’d be whispering about him would be demons and he didn’t much care for their opinions these days. So he walked past them to look inside any items with compartments that he could find.

Two cabinets, a desk, three boxes and a chest of drawers later Crowley had to bite back an excited noise as his hand bumped into a false panel. “What’s this?” he whispered to himself before ever-so-carefully pushing the panel aside. He stuck his hand into the newly-revealed opening and hissed in victory as his hand brushed against what felt like papers.

He pulled them out and put the panel back in place as he slipped the papers into his jacket. He’d look at them once he and Aziraphale were out of the store.

Speaking of the angel…

Crowley sauntered back over to him to see that he had lost interest in the dagger and was now looking at the earrings Crowley had eyed earlier. The angel looked up as Crowley circled to his left and his smile was more a silent question than a welcome. Did you find anything that caught your eye, it seemed to ask. “What do you think of these?” Was what he said however, gesturing to the earrings. “I think they could be quite useful in my store.”

Crowley hummed in interest and leaned like he was trying to view them at a different angle. The papers made a noise at the movement and, out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw Aziraphale’s gaze snap to Crowley’s jacket for a moment, riveted like a hound on a scent. “They’d certainly warn you of anyone planning to trick you with an accomplice, but I don’t know how often you run into stuff like that,” he said, and Aziraphale didn’t speak. Crowley turned to see him staring at Crowley’s jacket like he was trying to see through the fabric to the papers underneath. “Angel?”

“Hmm? Oh, right, yes. Well, better to be safe than sorry.” Aziraphale turned back to the earrings and scooped them up, no longer interested in maintaining his air of curiosity. Crowley thought about following him before shrugging and leaving the shop, doing his best not to rustle the papers anymore.

Once he was outside he took the papers out and started looking through them, humming some secret agent theme under his breath. Two or three looked to be correspondence of some manner, another some hasty – and poorly scribbled out – math with numbers lining the bottom, and the last page was a whole lot of gibberish. “Oh,” Crowley said, rather disappointed with his findings, but before he could decide what to do with the papers now the door behind him opened and Aziraphale appeared at his side.

“What did you find?” He asked, not bothering with false pleasantries, his eyes locked onto the papers.

Crowley shrugged and handed the papers over before slipping his hands into his pockets. “Not much. Didn’t get a chance to read those letters yet but the math just looks like notes and the gibberish looks like gibberish.” He thought over the last page while Aziraphale read the letters. It was formatted too nicely to simply be letters scribbled on a page. And it had that irritating pattern to it that – oh. “The gibberish is a code!” he exclaimed, more to himself than his friend.

 _That_ had Aziraphale abandoning his current task to take a look himself and he exhaled sharply, seeing the pattern himself. “Yes, I do believe you’re right,” he murmured. “It looks more complicated than a simple Caesarian Shift.” He hummed to himself, something far less dramatic than Crowley’s earlier tune, before looking up and beaming at the demon. “It’ll certainly be fun to solve. I’m glad you found this, my dear.”

Crowley shrugged off his words. “Let me know what it says when you’re done; I’m curious too.”

“Of course!” Aziraphale agreed, before folding the papers up with care and tucking them away in his jacket. “Now, where else should we go?”

They spent the rest of the day like this, going from store to store and browsing, occasionally buying or stealing anything that caught their eye, depending on which one’s interest had been snagged. They continued like this until they made their way into what appeared to be a supplier of plants and pieces of flesh. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the smell while Crowley poked around. “Why are we here? We don’t even know anything to make with these…items.”

Crowley popped his head out from around a shelf. “Well no, but don’t you want to know what they think is useful to drink? What parts of animals they use? It’s bound to be a riot. Look at this!” He lifted up some bat wings and Aziraphale made a face as he reluctantly slunk closer to inspect them himself. “They aren’t even magical, so what’s the point?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale sniffed, and Crowley laughed before putting the wings back and continuing his exploration.

He ran his hands along the shelves and read the labels on the canisters. “Powered unicorn horn?” he read, cocking his head to the side. He rotated the canister slowly, watching the light reflect through the fine crystal-like powder. “Huh, I hadn’t realized that one on the ark could crossbreed. Good for it.” He put the jar back and continued his perusal until he ran into what look like a gorgeous stone. Frost was emanating from it and Crowley plucked it up to examine more carefully. A freezing spell, he noted. Why’d they do that to it? He tried to dig past that but the spell was covering up the rest of the magic in the item, so with a shrug he slipped it into his pocket and continued his perusal.

He finished up soon after that and left with a grateful Aziraphale. “It’s getting to be about lunch time,” Crowley noted from the sun. “What say you to some lunch?”

Aziraphale perked up a bit at the thought. “That sounds quite lovely. Do you know any of the places around here?”

“I’ve been to the place I got you those pastries, angel. I imagine it’ll be a surprise no matter where we go.”

Aziraphale looked both excited to try a new place and apprehensive, and Crowley didn’t offer up any objection when he took the lead in finding them a place to eat. They relaxed through the rest of the day and into the evening like this, and when it was time to leave Aziraphale looked somewhat sad to go. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full making room for your new influx of books,” Crowley offered him. “You’ll have to make sure mundane customers don't run off with any; who knows what that could lead to.”

That did seem to mollify the angel, who spent the ride back to his place humming and looking lost in thought. Crowley didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts and only sang under his breath to whatever song the Bentley decided to play. When they pulled up to his bookshop Aziraphale didn’t move until Crowley nudged him and got the angel to blink himself back into the present. “It was wonderful to go out with you, Crowley,” he said, and the look on his face was contrite. Distressed he hadn’t been good company in the car, Crowley guessed. “Perhaps we can make more trips to that alley in the future?”

Crowley drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to try and cover up his surprise. And delight. “Sure! I mean – um – yes, of course, we should definitely go back there some more. We didn’t even go through every store they had.”

“No, we certainly didn’t.” Aziraphale sounded pleased and looked at Crowley for a moment longer before letting himself out. Crowley followed and walked him to his door, where the two of them lingered again, the bookshop’s flickering light making their shadows dance along the steps. “I’ll you see you soon, Crowley,” Aziraphale finally said, unlocking his door and opening it. For a moment he looked conflicted, and Crowley knew what he was considering and had to fight back the hope rising in his stomach. 

This happened every so often, where Aziraphale would consider asking him to stay the night when he had no reason to other than…well, who knew. Crowley had longed stopped guessing to give his heart some rest. And, just as Crowley knew would happen, Aziraphale’s conflicted expression faded to a more familiar resignation. “Have a good night,” he said, before entering the shop and closing the door.

Crowley sighed and fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket, spending a minute on the steps to get over his disappointment and plan his next steps. He was kind of tired from spending so much of the day around other people and could really use a nap, and while his plants may do their best to not fail him they still needed water, so he was thinking of going back to his flat for the night to catch up on sleep and tend to his garden. After that he would return to his guard snake duty and wait for the lawyer to contact him about getting custody of Harry.

With a yawn he slunk back into his car and drove away, returning to his flat for the first time in over a month. The plants look _exhausted_ when he checked on them, and he had to admit – if only privately to himself – that he felt a tad guilty at the way they trembled under his gaze at having failed an impossible task. He didn’t say anything to them, just made sure they all got as much water as they needed and added more nutrients to their soil, and slowly their shaking calmed from terrified to nervous.

He wouldn’t apologize, but he also wasn’t going to blame them when their failure ultimately lied with him.

Decision made, he left them to recover and got into his pajamas in record time. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


End file.
